Frostbite
by jenron12
Summary: McBreezy's LTM Fic Challenge. Prompt: Cal/Gillian - Cocoa "Cal knew that a bigger risk meant a bigger reward - and he also knew that until one of them chose to take it, they were basically stuck. One step forward, one step back. Together, yet not. They couldn't stay in limbo forever."
1. Chapter 1

This is my entry for **McBreezy's LTM Fic Challenge**. I took the Cal / Gillian prompt "Cocoa." And just in case all of you get to the end of this chapter and think I've lost my mind, trust me: cocoa shows up heavily in chapter two. It has a starring role. ;)

**Disclaimer**: Lie To Me isn't mine, and neither are the characters. But if someone could loan me Cal / Tim for a day or two (or ten), that would be fantastic.

* * *

It had been almost six months since Claire died, and Cal and Gillian were slowly growing comfortable in their new routine. They enjoyed casual weeknight dinners at his place, spent most of their Saturday afternoons together at Gillian's, and even enjoyed a handful of evenings that could've been classified as dates, if either of them had been inclined to do so.

_Scratch that. _

The "_if_" was completely unnecessary,because he _was_ inclined to do so.

He _was_ inclined to think of them as dates. Just as he'd been inclined to bring her flowers (_twice_), and kiss her cheek (_far more than twice_), and sometimes it struck him that they'd gone about this whole thing entirely backward. Sometimes he thought that they'd managed to slide headfirst into relationship territory without either one of them bothering to make the stereotypical "first move."

Truth was, he hadn't planned on any of this. Not yet. Not this soon.

Alright, fine. If he were being completely honest with himself, he'd freely admit that the idea of being in a relationship with Gillian had always been in the back of his mind. It was a fantasy that he'd long ago labeled "_Someday_," and packed away inside himself, behind carefully constructed walls. He loved her, unconditionally. And he'd wanted her from the beginning. But actually having balls enough to do anything about it was another beast entirely.

Cal Lightman was a realist, and he knew that _thinking_ about dating Gillian Foster was probably as good as he was going to get. His timing was total shit, and he knew it. He knew his place – as friend, confidant, and shoulder to cry on – and to press for anything more would've been completely selfish.

What was he supposed to say, anyway?

"_Sorry 'bout Claire, darling. Know you're grieving and all that, but see the thing is… I've finally pulled my head out of my arse long enough to man up to my feelings."_

Wanker, party of one.

It sounded absolutely pathetic in his head, and no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't get the words to come together properly. So in short, he didn't have a plan. There was no hidden agenda and no impossibly high standard to meet. He and Gillian just… _were_. No pressure.

The part that _really_ caught him off guard was how natural things felt with her. How easily they shifted back and forth between their roles – from business partners, to sparring partners (verbally, of course), to best friends and back again. It had been _natural_ to hold her… to offer comfort as she grieved the loss of her friend. It had been _natural_ to have her sleeping in his guest room, and on his couch, and even in his _bed_ a few times (_in a fully clothed, completely innocent way_), and for the most part, they were content to move through their daily lives without making mention of the fact that things between them were obviously changing.

On paper, it was bloody brilliant. But in reality, their situation was a double edged sword: yes, he could hold her hand and kiss her cheek, and as long as neither of them put an official label on anything, it meant their safety net was still intact. The risk was there, but it wasn't nearly as high. On the other hand, Cal knew full well that a bigger risk meant a bigger reward – and he also knew that until one of them chose to take it, they were basically stuck. One step forward, one step back. Together, yet not.

He felt like a giant, pathetic chicken. One who had long been head over heels in love with Gillian, and yet was still unable to answer a simple question:_ "What are you waiting for?"_

Six months had passed, and he still didn't have an answer to that one.

He just knew they couldn't stay in limbo forever.

* * *

Cal couldn't remember the last time he'd worn a tie, let alone an entire bloody suit. And he'd never been more grateful for his daughter's busy social life, because he knew that if she (_or anyone, really_) caught sight of him before Gillian did, he'd never hear the end of it.

This was not a date. It was _not_. It was just dinner. So what if he wanted to look nice while they went about it, right?

_Right_.

He sighed, cursing his shaky fingers as he moved through the house. The term 'headless chicken' wouldn't have been much of an overstatement. He wasn't running late yet – no thanks to the aforementioned tie which had simply refused to cooperate – but a few more delays, and he would definitely run the risk of missing his reservation.

_Reservation._

He winced a bit as soon as the word flickered through his head. Emily would've had a field day with that little tidbit, he knew. The suit… the dinner… she'd take one look at him and never believe his whole '_It Isn't A Date_" angle, not even for a microsecond. She'd probably laugh right in his face.

In all fairness, he had to admit that it _did_ look pretty suspicious. The facts were simple: Gillian just happened to mention a new restaurant she wanted to try – one that was booked solid for the next three months, good lord – and then poof. Strings were pulled, reservations were made, and voila: one top notch, _non-date_ evening was handed right to her, and served up Cal Lightman style.

So far, nerves were his only downfall – and they were out in full force, ready to party and making him feel downright pathetic in the process. "Nervous" wasn't usually in his vocabulary, after all. And he hated the fact that he was obsessing about every little detail, from cologne to mouthwash, to shoes _(seriously, what was he – a bloody girl?)._ He hated the fact that he'd already brushed his teeth twice and was headed back to do it again _just in case_ he decided to kiss her before their non-date even got off the ground. And most of all, he hated the fact that he felt so completely… off balance. Figuratively speaking. Like he'd had way too much sugar or caffeine or something, and he needed to just calm the hell down already. Just focus.

_Breathe_.

Because after all… it wasn't a date.

Cal had gotten so caught up in his own head that he didn't hear her approach. He didn't catch sight of her out of the corner of his eye as she stood there, leaning against the door frame with a smug little grin. And he most certainly didn't hear the laughter she suppressed as she watched him frantically brush his teeth for the _third_ time. No, he had no bloody idea she was in the house at all until a single statement shattered the silence in the room and nearly scared him right out of his skin.

"You do realize you're dating her, right dad?"

_Emily Lightman, part time ninja._

The sound of her muffled giggles hit the air before Cal had the chance to turn and face her. She was epically pleased with herself, and he couldn't blame her, really, because… well, she _was_ his daughter. The 'Smart Ass' gene was ingrained right into her DNA.

Although there were at least a dozen things he could've told her, a single cocked eyebrow was the only response he gave. Mostly because he already knew where the conversation was headed, and he wanted to stall it as long as possible, if not avoid it altogether.

Emily mimicked his expression, still holding her ground and looking completely unfazed. "I'm just saying… isn't this the _fourth_ evening you've spent together this week?"

Cal's eyebrow slowly returned to normal as he tried to decide on a reply. Too much detail and she'd pepper him with a hundred questions before he even made it out the front door, and too little and she'd probably pout. Neither seemed like a sensible choice, so he opted for a deflection instead.

"Your point being… what, exactly, love?" he tried.

She rolled her eyes at him immediately. "Oh, don't even try that trick with me, dad. _I_ learned it from _you_, remember? When in doubt, either deflect or stall. That's a patented Lightman move. And it's kind of pathetic, if you really want to know the truth."

Yes, yes it _was_ pathetic. He knew that, but he couldn't very well agree with her (_it went against his nature_). So since his 'Fight or Flight' instinct was beginning to kick in, he squeezed past her and shouted a one word answer that he knew she'd never accept. "Bollocks."

Emily snorted at him - an honest-to-goodness snort – and then he heard her footsteps fall in line behind his. "You _do_ realize I'm not an idiot, right?"

Cal sighed. The girl was relentless. "It's not a date, yeah?" he tried, and _bloody hell_, even _he_ was starting to get sick of hearing that line. "You can interrogate me tomorrow, Em, but for now, please do us both a favor and drop it. Fair enough?"

A beat later, he was on the move again. He made a beeline for the living room where he did a very awkward little dance of 'find shoes, check watch, grab flowers' (_yes, there were flowers – he hadn't anticipated a teenage spy when he bought them_), and if it weren't for all of _that_, she probably would've done what he asked. She probably would've let him weasel his way around the obvious truth without saying another word about it.

But she didn't. She changed tactics instead.

"What's with the tie, anyway?" she asked.

_Uh-oh. _

He'd been hoping to make his getaway before she had the chance to mention it, so he decided to play stupid rather than go along with her game of twenty questions. "What tie?"

Yet again, she looked unfazed. She simply grinned and then pointed to his chest, and said, "That tie. The one that _just so happens_ to be _Gillian's_ favorite color. The one that I just _know_ you spent at least five minutes fussing with until the knot was perfect."

_Shit, shit, shit. How had she known about the knot, anyway?_

This was going to be harder than he thought.

Still rolling with the stupidity angle, Cal huffed out a breath at her and shrugged. "It's just a tie, Em. A man has to wear clothes, doesn't he? Restaurants frown on nudity, yeah?"

The word 'nudity' immediately earned him a nose-wrinkle and an eye roll, but nothing much in terms of leeway. Emily was a girl on a mission, now.

"It's new, isn't it?" she said, already certain of the answer. "_And_ it matches your suit. _Which_, if I'm not mistaken, is _also_ new."

Cal rolled his eyes right back at her and checked his watch again. This was taking entirely too long. "Is there a _reason_ you're emphasizing _every other_ word, love?" he mocked. "Aside from trying to drive me bonkers, I mean."

Emily's expression was partially hidden as he moved around the room, gathering his things and taking one last look in the mirror that hung in their foyer (_that damned knot in his tie _still_ wasn't right_), and by the time he turned his attention back to her, she was on the verge of laughing at him again.

"Oh, _come on_, dad. You're practically the king of wrinkled black shirts and faded jeans, and yet tonight you're running out the door in a suit, with a bouquet of flowers tucked under your arm. For a man who keeps insisting that he _doesn't_ have a _date_, it just seems a little… _fishy_, that's all."

Cal sighed. This was quickly turning into a 'no win' situation. "It's just clothes, Em," he lied. "No big deal."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "But it _is_ new, right? The tie, the suit, the whole nine yards? Don't get me wrong… I mean, you look great and I'm sure Gillian will appreciate the fact that you look about a million times less wrinkled than usual, but you _do_ realize you're proving my point, don't you?"

This time he tapped his foot and blew out his breath in a huff. He was seriously going to be late now. "Which is?"

"That you're dating Gillian," she answered.

Each time she made that statement, Cal's stomach tightened a little more. One more time, and he'd probably start to believe her.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," he said. "You and I both know that if I am ever lucky enough to convince Gillian to take a chance with me, I would _not_ be able to keep it quiet. Shout it from the rooftops, I would."

Emily nodded and smiled, then waited all of about three short seconds before gesturing at the lilies in his hand. "And the flowers?" she asked. "Are you going to tell me some insane story about restaurants not wanting their customers to show up empty handed, or are you actually going to tell me the truth? Which, for the record, I already know."

That last little bit was tacked on as an afterthought, but she'd spoken it so sincerely that he couldn't help but answer her. He was halfway to the door when he finally turned around and said sheepishly, "I bought them earlier today, alright?"

Her smile lit up the entire room. Victorious, she was. "Earlier today… _when_?"

Cal couldn't tell if she was happy because she'd finally weaseled the truth out of him, or because she was just plain excited to hear what they _both_ knew he was about to tell her. Or maybe a little bit of each.

_Three…two…one…_

"When I picked up the new suit, alright?" he finally admitted. "Are you happy now, love? Because I have an appointment to keep and I…"

She held up one finger to interrupt him. "You mean '_reservations_,' don't you?"

Jesus, it was like living with a miniature interrogator sometimes. Of course, given that she'd been raised by an attorney and a deception expert, he should've expected as much. "Yes, fine, _reservations_," he grumbled. "I bought a new suit, picked out a new tie, made reservations, and ordered flowers. Can I go now?"

Emily beamed at him, stopping short of clapping her hands together and jumping up and down like an excited little kid. "So you're finally going to tell her, then?" she asked.

Cal heard his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he wrestled with the answer to her question. This time, when he shrugged at her, it wasn't because he was trying to deflect. It was because he simply hadn't made up his mind yet. "Baby steps, Em. I'll get there eventually."

* * *

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Gillian posed the question casually, as she leaned against his doorframe and watched him from a distance. Under different circumstances, he probably would've laughed her off. He probably would've made a joke or said something ridiculous, just to get her to change the subject. But not this time.

This time – less than twenty four hours after their 'non-date' – he didn't much feel like changing the subject. _This time_, something in his brain short-circuited his normal "open mouth-insert foot" tendencies, and he opted for honesty instead.

The baby steps he'd been taking? It was time for another one.

She took his warm smile as the invitation it was intended to be, and once she was settled into the chair across from his, Cal gave her a very simple answer. "I was thinking about you, love."

As soon as she blushed, he knew he'd made the right decision.

"Good things, I hope," she said.

It was only four short words, but there was something in her tone that made his ears perk up. Something… _different_… that he couldn't quite identify. Something that gave him the courage to take another tiny step and tell her what was _really_ on his mind, for once, and exactly _why_ he was thinking about her. No holds barred.

This was Gillian, after all. _His_ Gillian. And she'd gushed over the flowers and the suit and all the dancing they'd done (_yes, dancing – he'd managed to keep that bit away from Emily during the after-dinner interrogation, thankfully_), and it wasn't like she was going to run away from him. He knew that. He did. He just… well, he just wasn't ready yet to show his cards yet. Not quite yet.

Opting to jump into the conversation with both feet and see where it took them, he simply blurted it out. "Emily tells me that you and I are dating. So I guess whether or not that counts as a '_good thing'_ is entirely up to you, darling."

Silence.

He heard nothing but silence as he waited for Gillian's reaction, which caused an immediate look of panic to flash across his face as he watched her. And the longer it lasted, the more his brain tried to fill the void with every possible excuse in the book, until he'd practically talked himself into leaving the room altogether.

But when her giggles hit the air a moment later, his panic morphed into total confusion.

_She was… laughing at him? _

Cal blinked and squinted at her, as if she'd gone blurry around the edges and surely, _surely_, he just wasn't seeing her clearly. Surely she wasn't laughing at him. She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't.

_Would she__?_

His hangdog frown set Gillian in motion, and in the next breath her hand was on his knee – squeezing and patting as she tried to get herself under control. "I'm sorry, Cal," she said soothingly. "Really, I am. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, and I didn't mean to laugh. It's just… the look on your face was completely priceless."

If her hand hadn't still been on his knee, his pride probably would've been much more wounded. But given the circumstances, he gave her an over-exaggerated sigh and said, much less eloquently than he would've liked, "Priceless, _how_?"

She squeezed him again. "Like you're half afraid of what I _might_ say, and half afraid of what I _might not_ say. And it's just funny, that's all, because _you_, Cal? You're never afraid of anything. I don't bite, remember? Well… not unless you really want me to."

_Say what, now?_

He didn't even know it was possible, but as soon as Gillian made that comment, he blushed. He actually blushed. He could feel the heat in his face, and he could see the utter shock in her reaction when she noticed it. As far as he could remember, he'd never done it before, and he hoped – _mightily_ – that he'd never do it again. Because now he felt completely exposed. As if Gillian Foster could take one look at him and not only tell what he was _feeling_, but hear what he was _thinking_ as well.

And all of a sudden, what he was _thinking_ involved much less laughter on her part, and all of their clothing balled into a giant pile on the floor of his study.

_So yeah_… he was blushing.

Gillian looked a bit empowered. "A speechless Cal Lightman?" she teased. "Now _that_ is one for the record books."

He didn't regain his voice until a few minutes later, when she'd finally taken her hand off his knee and walked toward his door. He called out to her just as she went to step back into the hallway. "What should I have told her, love?" he said lamely.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid. _He felt like a giant idiot, but at least she had the decency not to laugh this time.

Gillian smiled, and resumed her position against his doorframe. "Well… what _did_ you tell her?"

Cal shrugged and sighed, clearly embarrassed to tell her the truth but determined to do it anyway. "I said, 'bollocks,"' he answered honestly. "And then we had a five minute discussion on the newness of my suit and how long it took me to knot my tie."

Her smile immediately grew larger. "And what did you _want_ to tell her?"

Not understanding her point, he scrunched up his brows. "_Want_?" he repeated.

"Yes, Cal, _want_. As in, were you inclined to agree with her? Or did her assumption seem way too… off the mark? Did the idea of '_dating'_ me make you want to wrinkle up your nose and laugh in her face, or… _not_?"

Air quotes. She'd used air quotes around the word dating, which made his thought process go off the rails a bit, because it _did_ seem like such a small word for such a big step. Dating. Made it sound like they were teenagers or something.

"Definitely not, Gill. No nose-wrinkling or laughing, I can promise you that. Quite the opposite, in fact."

She took a few slow steps toward him, still smiling, and then said, "Well, that's good. Because I'd hate to know that the thought of us together counts as a turn off."

_A turn off? Was she serious?_

And just like that, it was his turn to laugh. "Just for the record, Gill? The thought of us together is about as far away from being a _turn off_ as it is possible to get. In fact, I've spent the better part of the last few months so completely _turned_ _on_ that it's a wonder I haven't gotten frostbite yet."

She blushed immediately, much more deeply than he'd ever seen. And it was only _then_ that he realized what he'd just said – how much he'd just said – and that he couldn't take any of it back.

So much for baby steps.

Gillian edged even closer to him, moving cautiously yet never taking her eyes off of his. Her breathing had turned shallow, and every step she took made his stomach clench in anticipation.

"Frostbite?" she tried. "I don't understand…?"

There went his heartbeat again, pounding in his ears. The way he saw it, he only had two options: he could tell her the truth and risk another round of laughter, or act like a giant wanker and sweep everything under the rug.

It only took a split second for him to make the decision.

"Frostbite," he repeated. "Too many cold showers, darling. I'm starting to fear for the safety of my toes."

* * *

**To Be Continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: I just wanted to leave a quick note to say how much I've enjoyed this challenge. Your kind reviews have meant the world to me - thank you all for reading!**_

* * *

Cal spotted Gillian out of the corner of his eye, looking lovely as ever and carrying two ridiculously oversized mugs in her hands. He smiled, expecting her to meet his gaze and breeze right through the door like she normally would, but she didn't.

Not this time.

_This time_, she stopped a few paces away from the entrance and shifted her weight from foot to foot, as if she were waiting on something. And it struck him as odd, because it wasn't like she needed an invitation. Not now, and not ever. Open door policy, and all that.

She looked tense. Timid. And even though it was barely noticeable – and anyone else in the world surely would have missed it entirely – he saw her hesitation loud and clear. He watched the way she took a tiny step backwards before crossing the threshold. The way she chewed on the corner of her lower lip and then glanced off to the side, just to see if anyone else in the hallway had caught her. He saw the way she glanced down at herself self-consciously, looking for whatever crazy imperfection she'd feared would be there.

It seemed utterly out of character for her, especially in light of the way things were changing between them. Less than forty eight hours earlier, his infamous 'frostbite' comment had told her – in no uncertain terms – that he existed in a perpetual state of "horny" whenever she was around. What on Earth would make her feel shy now?

No, no… forty eight hours had given her plenty of time to run, and he was quite sure that she'd been flattered by his admission. That it had thrilled her, more than just a little bit. And that she'd almost leaned in and kissed him at least four times since then. _Four_. He was counting.

So far, so good. They'd replaced baby steps with normal ones, added in a heavy dose of innuendo for good measure, and considering that he'd been a royal coward for the better part of a decade, he thought they were making pretty good time. Going from zero to full-blown, '_there's-no-point-in-denying-it-any-longer-you-big-plonker'_ sexual tension in forty eight hours seemed lightning fast by comparison.

It was almost too good to be true.

Cal closed his laptop and sat back in his chair, happy just to have a moment to watch her from a distance. Pink dress… loosely curled hair… and that gold bracelet he'd given her for her birthday last year, which he _knew_ she only wore when she was feeling sentimental or insecure, or…

_Uh oh._

_Maybe it all really _was_ too good to be true?_

In a single breath, Cal's imagination began spinning out of control, thereby dragging him to at least a dozen different conclusions before Gillian even walked through the door. Maybe this was the big brush-off, then? Maybe she was about to walk in there and tell him that he'd pushed things too far? That he was a giant arse, or that she wasn't ready, or…

Pulse now pounding and throat suddenly dry, he chanced another glance in her direction and was surprised to catch her watching him in much the same way that he'd been watching her. She was looking at him so intently, in fact, that he had to consciously remind himself to breathe.

Then again… maybe all those cold showers he'd been taking had permanently frozen some of his brain cells. Because _clearly,_ he was an idiot. And _clearly_, Gillian _was not_ about to walk in the room, hand him a giant mug of something (_dear lord, don't let it be chocolate_), and tell him to piss off.

It wasn't her style.

With that thought, his wary expression met her newly confidant one and she smirked at him as she strode toward his desk. "Relax, Cal – yours isn't chocolate."

Simultaneously grinning and wanting to kick himself for having such a massive overreaction, Cal blinked up at her and finally let out the breath he hadn't meant to hold. Relief, in one fell swoop.

"Hate to tell you this, darling, but if you've suddenly developed the ability to read my mind, then I think we're both in big trouble."

Gillian's smirk softened a bit, and it changed the shape of her mouth in a way that made his stomach tighten automatically. He wondered if she did it intentionally, or if she was really just that good.

"That bad, huh?" she teased. "Can't say I'm too surprised, but I _do_ appreciate the warning."

Still grinning, he decided to be deliberately coy just to see if she'd do that thing with her lips again. "Bad, love? No, not exactly. Vivid and colorful, on the other hand? _Abso-bloody-lutely_."

_And there it was_ – the payoff he'd been hoping to find. It seemed Gillian's lips had a mind of their own; he watched them shift from a smirk, to amusement… to finally just a hint of exasperation (_that one was perhaps his favorite),_ all in the span of a microsecond. He loved those lips. Wanted to see what other emotions he could get them to express, if given the opportunity.

"Vivid and colorful are my middle names, Gill," he added, just because he could. And just because he wanted to tease her right back.

Matching his mischievous expression with one of her own as she handed him a mug, Gillian simply smiled and said, "I'll be sure to remember that the next time I'm looking for a little 'pick me up' that _doesn't_ involve something I can pour into a cup."

There was something hidden in her statement, and they both knew it. But instead of calling attention to the obvious, Cal took his drink and eyed hers with curiosity. Cocoa, of course – complete with copious amounts of whipped cream and chocolate shavings swirled throughout. It was very 'Foster,' and he couldn't resist teasing her. "Yours come with a side of insulin, then?"

"_Cute_," she quipped. She settled herself on his sofa and motioned for him to join her. "We could always trade, you know? _I'll_ take the English tea, and _you_ can have my…"

"Stop right there," he interrupted. "Two sips of that ridiculous drink and I'll be in a sugar coma for the rest of the day. Much as I appreciate the offer, you will never catch my lips anywhere _near_ whipped cream and cocoa, and that's a promise."

Gillian tapped her index finger against the rim of her mug as she smirked at him. She looked… like she was _definitely_ up to something (_a proverbial 'light bulb moment,' if he'd ever seen one_), but he couldn't quite work out what it was. Or what that little gleam in her eye was _really_ all about. But the thought soon died in his head as their conversation continued to flow, and before either of them realized how quickly the time had passed, their drinks were nearly dry.

And_ that's_ when it happened. He made an innocent, offhanded comment that wound up vaulting them so far ahead of the 'baby step' stage that he could barely see it in the distance anymore.

"Thank you, love – for the company _and_ the caffeine," he said sincerely. "What more could a man want, yeah?"

He caught the barest trace of nervousness on her face and the faintest shade of blush on her cheeks just before she answered. It was an exact mirror of the look he'd seen earlier, before she walked through his door. And the image _should _have tipped him off that something was definitely…_up_, but it didn't. Not yet.

Gillian waited until he'd taken the last sip of his drink but _before_ he swallowed it (_bloody tricky, she was_), then she placed one hand atop his knee and looked him dead in the eye. "What more could you want?" she paraphrased. "Well… probably nothing that I'd agree to do here in the office, but I bet that won't stop either of us from imagining the possibilities."

It took every ounce of self control in Cal's body not to choke on his tea, right then and there. He sputtered and coughed and pounded on his chest like a fool, and when his shocked expression met Gillian's timid one, he heard her breathe a sigh of relief.

_Relief?_

Now where in the world did _that_ come from?

Cal was confused. There he sat, trying to look as composed as possible while wiping up the mess he'd made down the front of his shirt, and Gillian had gone quiet as a mouse. She was completely silent, though the expression she wore spoke volumes.

Yes, it was _definitely_ relief. And it made him wonder just how long she'd been waiting to make that kind of comment. Made him wonder if the entire 'tea and cocoa' bit was just a means to an end.

Voice finally restored, Cal turned toward her with a suspicious smirk. "So that's your game then, is it? Ply me with tea and innuendo, just to watch me squirm? S'really not a fair fight, love."

She smirked right on back. "How so?"

"Because you're the resident vocal expert, Gill. You can read things from me even when I'm _not_ trying to be obvious about it. I mean, if we're going to play this game – which, I must say, you are _very bloody good at _– then you could at least spot me a few points. Make it even, and all that."

She snickered at him, and then raised her hands in mock surrender. "You caught me, Cal. You've finally caught me. I'm a genuine tea and cocoa 'double agent,' out to bring you to your knees. And with chocolate shavings and whipped cream in my bag of tricks, I must admit, the possibilities do seem rather… dangerous."

Though he tried not to do it, a muffled growl came out of Cal's mouth automatically. He had no control over it at all. It was as if the woman had crawled around in his brain until she found all of his weaknesses, and then she just kept poking at them over and over again. A few more times, and she was likely to bite off more than she could chew.

"Two words, Gillian: _Killing. Me_," he said thickly. "There's only so much of… _this_… that a man like me can take before he just snaps."

And with that, she dropped her hand to his thigh and patted it firmly. "Well that's good," she answered. "In fact… it's exactly what I'm counting on."

_Jaw, meet floor. _

He was… stunned. Quite literally stunned. He couldn't speak, couldn't think, and could barely even _breathe_, thanks to what she'd just said. Cal Lightman – master of sexual innuendo and all things 'flirtatious' – had been knocked right on his arse in a single sentence. How did she _do_ that, anyway?

More to the point, _why in the world_ had she waited this long to start?

By the time he'd regained enough sense to close his mouth, Gillian had moved to the other side of the room. "Same time tomorrow work for you?" she asked.

And curse his muddled brain, he could not think of anything creative to say. Nothing at all. The best he could do (_and he used the term 'best' loosely_) was to look at her with darkened eyes and ask, "Already planning to play hooky again, I take it?"

Gillian tapped her mug with a manicured nail. "Preventative measures," she said. "With all those cold showers you've been taking, I figure this is the least I can do to warm you up. After all, I'd hate to hear that any of your… _appendages_… are out of commission."

She was gone a moment later, leaving him with his jaw hanging down to the desktop once again, and fire simmering directly below his waistline.

He wasn't sure where the hell _that_ particular comment had come from, but he _did_ know one thing: he definitely liked it.

He liked it very, _very_ much.

* * *

True to her word, Gillian was back the following afternoon with two more mugs. Based on her expression alone, it was clear that she knew _exactly_ what she was doing. She'd obviously known it all along, of course, but the timid expression Cal had briefly seen the day before was gone. She was teasing him… toying with him… and enjoying every single second, to the fullest extent.

Playing with fire, she was. And it was causing an immediate reaction in both his libido and his imagination.

"The sentiment still stands, Gill. "_You are killing me_."

Cal's voice sounded much thicker than he would've liked, and the words kept getting stuck in his throat in a tangle of accent and emotion. And while he looked just a touch self-conscious, Gillian seemed thrilled to know that she'd rattled him again.

The woman had apparently made it her mission in life to test the boundaries of his self-control.

For the most part, he could handle the smiling. Had no problems with the giggling. But the soft, pink blush that spread across her face each time she sipped from that ridiculously oversized mug? _That_ was the kicker. It made him wonder what was _really_ going on in that brilliant mind of hers, and exactly how long she'd been planning this whole scene.

Under his watchful eye, she sipped again. And right on cue – just as he'd known would happen – the heat rose in her face again, only this time… _this time_… she upped the ante.

_Sip… blush… lick lips… cross legs._

That's right. She licked her lips _and_ crossed her legs in the _same bloody movement_, and heaven help him, he actually groaned – because _those_ legs in _that_ dress were a dangerous combination, and they both knew it.

Whatever game she was playing, "brilliant" was clearly an understatement. And if she didn't get to the finish line soon, he'd either have to jump her or make a beeline for the men's room to relieve a little pressure.

In the end, the sound of Gillian's breathy laugh was what finally broke through his distraction. "You _do_ realize you're staring, right?" she said smugly.

_Yes. Yes, of course he did_. And he knew he needed to say _something_ – that he couldn't just sit there and keep right on staring at her for the rest of the day – but with every blood cell in his body currently being re-routed to his groin, the words that popped out of his mouth were nothing even _close_ to what he wanted her to hear.

He _wanted_ her to hear something that would let her know how beautiful she was, and how badly he wanted her, and how much he loved her. But what he actually said was pathetically simple.

"Good cocoa, is it?"

Trust him, if Cal could've gotten away with it, he would've rolled his eyes at himself for giving her such a massive, massive deflection. It was pathetic, really.

But before he had the chance to backpedal, she ran with it. "Good doesn't even begin to cover it," she said innocently.

_Sip… blush… lick lips…_

For a moment, he thought she was going to let it go… that she'd ignore his stupid comment, and let the conversation move along naturally. But then she crossed one long leg over the other, looked him right in the eye, and said – without so much as a _hint_ of shyness in her voice - "It's very sweet, with just the right amount of spice to keep things… _interesting_."

And that's when he knew.

She didn't _want_ to win the game.

She wanted _him_ to play it with her.

Somewhere in the back of Cal's mind it occurred to him that even though he'd been a bloody fool for waiting _this_ damned long to tell her how he felt, he was _not_ about to let an opportunity like that get away. Not this time. Not when they both knew that she was practically offering herself to him on a silver platter. He was staring down the barrel of a textbook 'now or never' moment and he knew it. And as soon as his decision was made, the heat behind it reverberated all the way to his bones.

_He chose 'now.'_

"You still talking about the drink, Gill?" he asked, even though the answer was obvious.

_Of course she wasn't._

Gillian eyed him slowly, up and down, and shifted in the seat so that her hemline rose the tiniest bit higher on her thighs. She was taunting him; carefully weighing her options before finally settling on an answer that would best fit the situation.

Finally finding one, her expression softened. "That depends entirely on you. Don't tell me you've already forgotten your promise?

_Promise? What promise?_

Cal's mind had gone blank. Trust him to get in over his head without even realizing what he'd done."'Fraid you'll have to refresh my memory, love," he answered.

Gillian took a deep breath and dropped her hand to his knee. And as soon as she made contact with his body, her entire face erupted into a warm smile. It was open and honest and so bloody brilliant that he couldn't help but return it, and _that's_ when it hit him: he wasn't over his head at all. He was exactly where he wanted to be.

"You said – _and I quote_ – 'You will never catch my lips anywhere near whipped cream and cocoa, and that's a promise.' And now the question is… are you willing to break it?"

Cal felt everything around him begin to slow down, and time seemed almost irrelevant because the only things he could _see_ or _feel_ all centered on Gillian. It was as if every thought that had popped into his brain since she walked into his office – with her cocoa and her long legs and her radiant beauty – were suddenly streamlined and magnified all at the same time. The emotion was stronger. The desire was deeper. And the risk? The risk he'd long been so afraid to take?

It was completely gone.

In fact, the only question he had now was why she'd used his silly little comment about a chocolate drink to bring them to _this_ point. Leave it to Gillian Foster to let something as epically wonderful as what they were about to become center around dessert, of all things.

As if reading his mind, Gillian shrugged. "One of us needed to make a move, right? We couldn't stay in limbo forever, and well... you gave me an opening I just couldn't resist. The fact that it involved chocolate was just a bonus."

_That promise he made? He would gladly break it a thousand times over._

Cal was the first one to move, and as soon as he did, the atmosphere between them shifted again. It became electric… felt alive. As if even the room itself knew what was about to happen and was standing right there on the sideline, cheering them on. His office. It was such a small space, but it held so much of their history. Seemed poetic, in a way.

Finally finding his voice, Cal smiled. "I couldn't have said it better myself, love."

Mere seconds away from kissing her, he slid his hands up to frame her face. He was caught somewhere between pulling her towards him and holding her still – not yet sure which one was the right decision – when her tentative voice threw him slightly off balance.

She looked up at him from beneath heavy lashes and softly asked, "Mind if I tell you a secret?"

He smiled, desperately wanting to kiss her but willing to wait until she was completely ready. He'd wait as long as it took. Nine years had nearly killed him, but a few more minutes seemed easily doable. "You can tell me anything, love, and so long as you don't make me leave this room before I've had the chance to kiss you properly, then I'll be a happy man."

Momentarily caught off guard by his honesty, Gillian blushed. "When I imagined… _us_," she started, unable to hide the tiny tremor in her voice that Cal instantly knew was from excitement, rather than fear. "…I never got this far. And it probably sounds silly, but I'm not quite sure what happens now."

The look in her eyes was an intoxicating mix of emotion, and it struck him that most other couples probably wouldn't be able to run the gamut so seamlessly. The changes kept making his head spin – in a good way, of course. It left him with little doubt that they'd be able to handle whatever might come their way in the future, so long as they were together.

Automatically adopting a gentle tone as he touched her, Cal stroked patient fingertips along the length of her jaw. "Well… what do you _think_ will happen now?"

She leaned into his touch, gave a tiny sigh, and then said, "I _think_ you're going to kiss me. And _I know_ that I'm going to kiss you back."

Cal smiled. He felt the emotion between them shifting again, back to lighthearted humor. _So far, so good._

"And after that, what do you _want_ to happen?" he asked. Without intentionally planning it, he'd brought them full circle – back to when Gillian had used the same logic on him, just a few days earlier.

Not understanding his point, and not recognizing the reference, Gillian scrunched up her brows. "Want?" she repeated.

A true déjà vu moment, it was. He couldn't help but grin.

"Yes, Gillian, _want_. _As in_…" Cal stopped there, allowing all the breath in his body to come out in a single, deep sigh. He was grounding himself; focusing on the _exact_ words he wanted to tell her, because it wasn't like they did this every day. Hell… it wasn't like he'd _ever_ done this. Not really.

Baring his entire soul to the only woman he'd ever truly loved? No, that was a once in a lifetime kind of thing. And he intended to do it up right.

Gillian wanted to speak. She wanted to fill the silence that he'd created, and he knew that. He felt her body tensing – saw the anticipation flash across her face as she leaned closer to him and started to gesture between them – but he simply shook his head and brushed the pad of his thumb across her lips.

_Not yet._

"Want," he repeated. "_As in_, if the idea of you and I finally being together makes you even a _tenth_ as happy as it makes me – to the point that you want to shout it from the rooftops, and do all kinds of embarrassingly sappy things that will make everyone within earshot insist that we really ought to just "Get a room, already," then chances are you _want_ this as much as I do, yeah?"

His hand had moved to her neck now, and his fingertips made slow, sweeping strokes against the length of it as he spoke. By the time he stopped talking and realized what he was doing – and how close he'd actually moved to her body in the process – the proximity made him shiver. It was excitement, personified.

"Cal, I…"

He still didn't let her speak.

"And just for the record, love? That whole '_get a room'_ thing I mentioned? It sounds like one hell of a plan. Top notch, really. Because I've waited almost nine years for this. I've wanted you, and I've wanted us, and _bloody hell_, there are things that should probably _not_ be done in this office that really _need_ be done soon. Preventative measures, as you so eloquently called them."

Cal wasn't sure there was a proper word to describe the sheer and utter happiness that shone from Gillian's eyes at the end of his impromptu little speech. She looked… absolutely radiant, in a way that made his whole heart happy.

For a man who had always struggled with words, it seemed he'd finally found the right ones.

Gillian covered his hand with hers and brought it to her lap – squeezing and stroking his fingers in a way that made his imagination begin to flare. "You are absolutely _insane_, do you know that?" she said.

Her tone was full of sweetness, and the lighthearted amusement in her eyes automatically widened his smile. '"Course I do, love. I've embraced it. Suggest you do the same, yeah?"

She giggled softly at him, just as he'd expected. "Embrace the crazy, then? That's your philosophy?"

"Says the woman who tried to seduce me with hot chocolate," he quipped. And when she giggled again a beat later, it made him think that he'd do or say just about anything to get to hear the sound of it for the rest of his life.

"Good lord, it sounds silly now, doesn't it?" she asked.

He knew she wasn't fishing for an answer, but wanted to give her one anyway. Just so that she really understood how he felt it. "Silly? No. "Bloody adorable? Absolutely," he offered. "And believe me when I tell you that even though the stuff normally doesn't appeal to me, the thought of kissing cocoa and whipped cream away from your skin is absolutely… _appetizing_."

With that, Gillian's body flew into action. They both knew exactly what was coming next – what her plan had been all along – but when she raised the mug to her lips and gazed at him over the rim, the finality of the moment took them both by surprise.

_Scratch that._

Finality wasn't the right word at all, because _this_? It was just the beginning, really. And even though Cal could've easily taken the driver's seat in a thousand different ways, with a thousand different routes that each would've been wonderfully fulfilling, he didn't. This was _Gillian's_ way, on _Gillian's_ terms, and truth be told, he couldn't have asked for anything better.

Ever so slowly – and without breaking eye contact at all - Gillian finally took one last sip. Only this time, when she pulled the mug away with a contented sigh, she did _not_ lick her lips. _This time_ – just as he'd expected – a small sprinkling of chocolate and whipped cream dotted the corner of her mouth, just waiting to be kissed away.

Just waiting for his promise to be broken.

And at the sight of it, Cal groaned. He felt the timber of it radiate throughout his entire body – from the top of his head, all the way to the soles of his feet and back again, before it centered itself in his chest and flared in rhythm with the syncopation of his pulse.

"Cal…"

That was the only word she said. It was just a single syllable, but nothing had ever sounded sweeter.

With a gentle, reverent touch, his hands stroked along her jaw line before sliding higher, to tangle in the silky strands of her hair. And when he finally leaned forward – when he _finally_ pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth and kissed away every drop of sugar that lingered there – the heat that flowed between them was positively vibrant.

Gillian was the first to move. Her arms slid upward, wrapping around his neck with ease as she angled closer to him. She was right there – in his arms, in his heart, and even though _every single one_ of his senses was consumed by her, it still wasn't enough. But when he pulled back just a bit… just enough to gaze into her eyes and let her know what he was about to do… the emotion that reflected back at him caused the embers of long-smoldering desire to turn white hot in a single spark.

_Love_.

In the next breath, he twined his hands in her hair and gently pulled – crashing her lips against his in an age old dance they instantly mastered. They moved together, walking that perfect balance between desire and respect as they explored one another, and Cal felt a profound sense of relief that he would finally, _finally_ be able to love her the way she truly deserved. With his entire heart, and with his entire self.

_Once in a lifetime, indeed._

Moments later, when the need for air finally pulled them apart, Cal rested his forehead against hers with a satisfied sigh. Part of him wanted to tell her everything – how much he loved her, how much he'd _always_ loved her, and how long he'd been waiting to take this step. But this was Gillian – _his_ Gillian – and the look in her eyes told him everything he needed to know.

She already knew how he felt. Truth be told, she'd probably always known it.

And as for the rest? All of the words, and the declarations, and the whispers of devotion that were _right there_, simmering just below the surface?

Trust her to read his mind once again.

With a sly grin that instantly had his body tightening against hers, Gillian simply said, "Pace yourself, Cal. It's taken us nine years to find our footing, but we can still take it one step at a time. Only now, the journey is a little bit more… _colorful_."

Unable to help himself, Cal lifted her chin with a single finger and dropped his lips against the warm skin of her throat in a string of tiny, soft kisses that left her breathless in his arms. "So I assume this means our afternoon tea and cocoa breaks are finished, then?" he asked.

Her reply came instantly, along with an expression that quickly threatened to break the final few strands of his resolve. "Definitely not," she said. "It just means that I'll have to be a little more creative about where I put the whipped cream from now on."

* * *

**END**


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